


Untitled

by havsgast



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Amnesia, Dissociation, Gen, generalized dissociative amnesia, relationship can be read as either platonic or romantic, remus is soft, she/her gay man deceit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 10:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havsgast/pseuds/havsgast
Summary: This is the result of me feeling strange and trying to process (the first two paragraphs) and an urge to write using she/her pronouns. It's vague and open-ended.





	Untitled

Her pulse is racing; she can feel her heart as it beats against the cage of her ribs. If not for the headphones covering her ears, she would have been able to hear the frantic rhythm; there’s music playing, but she isn’t listening to it. Her mind is eerily devoid of thoughts, a stark contrast to the otherwise neverending stream of consciousness. She thinks she wants to feel something but she doesn’t know what. Would pain bring her out of this mindset? Would pleasure? Would anything?

She exists in a vacuum. There is no one around to confirm that her existence is real. It’s only her, the feeling of her heart, and the illegible music. She thinks she would be scared if she could process what she’s experiencing. As it is, she only feels sad. There isn’t a clear reason why, but she feel as if she would like to cry. Maybe it would help.

Movement enters her field of vision, forcing her to blink to get the world back in focus. She recognises the man in front of her, but his name escapes her. His lips are moving, but no sound reaches her through the headphones. She slips them off, allowing the sound of the music she hadn’t been listening to, to fill the room.

“You worry me, Dee.” the man says, and the somberness of his words startles her. She still doesn’t remember his name, but she knows that he is rarely serious like this.

He takes one of her hands in his. She isn’t wearing gloves, and the warmth of his skin is almost burning against hers without the protective layer. He softly rubs the pad of his thumb over the scales that adorn the back of her hand.

“Should I fetch Virgil?”

The question is unassuming, innocent in fact, yet that name attempts to break her heart into pieces. Her chest hurts, and she shakes her head. No, she doesn’t want Virgil. Whoever he is, she can only associate him with pain.

“Then who should I ask for help, Dee?” the man asks, something almost desperate in his tone. “Logan might hear me out, but I doubt he would know where to start. Do you want me to ask Thomas? Would that help?”

More names. Her face scrunches together as she tries to make sense of them. They don’t cause her pain, and that’s all she has to go on. She shrugs helplessly, and it must have been response enough because the man nods slowly. He still holds her hand in his.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he vows. “I would burn down the world for you if that would help.”

It wouldn’t, she thinks, but she would still like to see it. She says nothing. There aren’t any words to say; she doesn’t think she’s capable of speech. Not right now.

“I love you.”

The man lifts her hand to his lips. The moustache tickle against her skin as he gives her hand a kiss. She wonders if she loves him too. She thinks she might.

“Come back to me, Dee,” the man whispers against her hand. “Please.”

She tilts her head to the side in a silent question; she hasn’t gone anywhere. He gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and places her hand down. It feels cold without his touch, and her fingers twitch in an abandoned motion to reach out for him.

There are tears in the man’s eyes, and she frowns at the sight of them. They don’t belong there. Something inside her screams at her for having caused this man pain. She wants to pull him against her chest and protect him from harm.

She feels her lips move, but the voice that comes out isn’t the higher-pitched dulcet tone that she had assumed. Her voice is dark, and hoarse from unuse; it’s the voice of a man that hasn’t spoken for a prolonged time. She wonders when she forgot that she’s a man.

“I love you too.” is what she says, and the words taste like truth on her tongue. She likes the taste of it, wants more of it, craves it. There is a feeling that she shouldn’t.

The man looks torn between smiling and crying; she doesn’t understand why.

She hasn’t understood much lately.


End file.
